The Hunger Games Mockingjay Epilogue
by ShhhIAmReading
Summary: My version of the epilogue. You don't have to like it but a lot of people have been saying how it wasn't detailed enough and blah blah blah. so I took Suzanne Colins Epilogue an put my own parts in it. Enjoy!


**A/N: Just something I was playing around with because me and my friends were saying that we wanted toknow what happend toeveryone else.I don't own Mockingjay, the characters or the Huger Games trilogy they belongto Suzanne Collins. **

They play in the Meadow. The dancing girl with the dark hair and blue eyes. The boy with blond curls and grey eyes, struggling to keep up with her on his chubby toddler legs. It took five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree. But Peeta wanted them so badly. When I first felt her stirring inside of me, i was consumed with a terror that felt as old a life itself. Only the joy of holding her in my arms could tame it. Carrying him was a little easier, but not much. I'm glad I have them, they're a reminder that my life no longer includes televised deaths.

Annie, is a shell of what she was with Finnick. We visit her, but although his name is never mentioned nor is the 'entertainment' he was part of or the runaway that he died in; his presence fills the room and I know that Annie won't get better. Not this time.

I'm not sure my mother will either. I haven't seen her since we stayed together in district 13. It was too hard for us to bear. There hadn't been enough time for our relationship to heal and Prim, the only real reason we had lived together for the past few years was gone. We drifted apart, though, whenever I think of her, it is always fondly. She still cares for the ill and wounded, although I was told every time primrose anything was required that she broke down crying.

The questions are just beginning. The arenas have been completely destroyed, the memorials built. We all visit the memorials of the ones we have lost: Mags, Boggs, Rue, Finnick, Cinna and Prim. Theew are no more Hunger Games. But they teach about them at school, and the girl knows we played a role in them. The boy will know in a few years. They will know about the aunt they should have had with her obsession for animals. The little goat, Lady; that she cared for immensely and crazy Buttercup; the cat that never did like me. They will learn why Annie won't smile, why her eyes are filled with so much pain. They will learn about the friends we have lost. They will learn of the politics that I refuse to take part in. I don't talk about them, I don't hear about them and I certainly don't think about them. Politics always ends in bloodshed. How can I tell them about that world without frightening them to death? My children, who take the words of the song for granted.

Deep in the meadow under the willow,

A bed of grass, a soft green pillow

Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes

And when again they open, the sun will rise.

Here it's safe, here it's warm,

Here the daisies guard you from every harm,

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true,

Here is the place where I love you.

My children, who don't know they play on a graveyard.

I want to keep it that way but everyone grows up and loses their innocence eventually, yet no one truly loses it, not like before. Knowledge might pull innocence away but the Hunger Games took everyone's innocence. For no one tried to stop it and those who took part lived by: kill or be killed.

I never saw President Snow again as every time he made a speech I would go hunting or find some other way to kill time. I was never invited to his house that was for sure. However, our deal went on, we never lied to each other. Ever.

Peeta says it will be OK. We have each other. And the book. We can make them understand in a way that will make them braver. But one day I'll have to explain my nightmares. Why they came. Why they won't ever go away. We feel we must tell them, explain in a way that school never will. And that's what we'll do.

I'll tell them how I survive it. I'll tell them that on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I'm afraid it could be taken away. That's when I make a list in my head of every act of goodness I've seen someone do. It's like a game. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after more than twenty years.

But there are much worse games to play.

**Please review, I have some other story ideas for the Infernal devices and possibly Mortal Instruments. Hope you enjoyed it, reviews are appriciated. :) x**


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